by Kate Bernadette Benedict
Glory be to God for fleshly things—
For thighs like pliant earthloam under working plow
For “those”-moles pushing upward out of secret rim.
Fresh-creamroll buttock-mounds: pinches bring!
Skinscape hairless or fleeced—fold, fulling, and brow.
And all breasts, their dear and dangle and brim.
All things female, labial; male, aswing.
Whatever is yeasty, juicy (you know how)—
With deft, soft, sweet, brash and dazzling whim,
They fuse; it’s a holy, ordering thing.